(Im)perfection
by Aobh
Summary: Helen Mathers doesn't care about Lord of the Rings. Unfortunately, Mary-Elizabeth Sue loves it. A generic Mary Sue falls into Middle Earth except this time she's not alone. Comedy. Pre War of the Ring. Rated for Strong Language.
1. One

June 2nd 2015, Hampstead, London

 **.**

Forty minutes of class left.

That's two halves of twenty.

Which is really only two sets of tens.

Which is, of course, is only four lots of five.

Which _means_ only another five minutes of English before the bell rang.

 _Obviously_.

After running over her calculations a second time and finding them fault-proof, Helen Mathers relaxed into her uncomfortable chair. The dark-blue plastic creaked under strain as she lent backwards, kicking out her feet under the table. Her seating partner shot her a quick smile before turning back to the text in front of him.

 _Five minutes, five minutes, five minutes_.

Being the beginning of a short British summer the classroom was hot and muggy from the accumulated sweat of the upper sixth year English class. Near silence reigned, interrupted occasionally by the collective sounds of teenage life. A rustle of a wrapper here, a half concealed laugh there and rushed whispers of confusion speckled the subdued tones of the bright room. West facing, the space was bathed in the yellow-orange glow of a descending sun. The blinds were broken, leaving the students bare to the elements. Those unfortunate enough to sit in the lights direct line shielded their eyes with hands and pieces of paper with wonkily photocopied Shakespeare on it. Others had no such luck and no matter the position of their hand had to endure the wrath of the light with half closed eyes and scowls.

The teacher, Clare, sat on a desk pushed up against the back wall, King Lear clutched within her abnormally small hands. She would occasionally read a line from the last page, periodically looking about her for a victim but the class ignored her questions and searching gaze. Favouring instead to look down at their sheets (or books, if they had bothered to buy it) and avoid her eager gaze.

Helen almost felt sorry for her.

That is, until she risked a glance at the clock and accidentally made eye-contact with her.

"Ah- Helen, what do you think?"

The girl in question grimaced and dropped her hand from in front of her face, squinting against the sun. For the life of her, she couldn't remember what the question was. So focused was she on her mathematical formula for how to get through class on a Friday afternoon at twenty past four that she hadn't bothered to listen to a word her bird-like teacher had said.

"Um…" she stalled, looking at her partner beside her.

He, in turn (traitor that he was), studiously ignored her pleading looks and kept his eyes trained on his own book.

Helen sighed and, accepting defeat, smiled at her teacher by way of apology.

"Could you repeat the question, please?"

On her part, Clare didn't look as annoyed as Helen thought she might. "I asked you what you thought?" She held up her copy of the play, shaking it slightly as if to remind her student where she was. "Of the quote?"

Helen, shamed, further admitted her treachery. "And uh- what quote was that, Miss?"

Clare sighed, bringing the book close to her face as she read the line again.

"'The weight of this sad time we must obey. Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say. The oldest hath borne most. We that are young shall never see so much, nor live so long.'"

Clare paused to twist a lock of grey-blonde hair behind her ear before continuing.

"What do you think Edgar meant?"

Helen, though appearing calm to her classmates, was inwardly panicking.

Who the _fuck_ was Edgar?

With a nervous smile she flipped to the back of her book, skim reading the last few lines.

"Uh…I think…I think he meant that they, as the younger generation wouldn't ever learn as much as the older generation? I-"

Something caught her eye and she turned towards a student whose hand was straight in the air, slim, delicate fingers wiggling from eagerness. Helen scowled immediately. Of course it would be _her_.

"Miss Sue? Do you have a point to add?"

The girl in question beamed, perfect white teeth gleaming. Her hair, thick and blonde, was tied into a messy pony-tail, something Helen hadn't ever been able to master.

If possible, her scowl deepened.

Far be it from her to discourage academic prowess, Helen had no problem with the goody two shoes' willingness to learn. It was her academic willingness to step on anyone else to further her own gain that rubbed Helen the wrong way.

Clare looked at Helen as if to ask if she didn't mind being showed up in front of her peers by someone with superior intelligence. Helen smiled, tight lipped and annoyed as Clare gestured for Mary to start.

"It refers, again, to the Felix Culpa of King Lear."

 _Fuck_ , thought Helen as Mary's voice rang clear through the classroom, _what the hell is a Felix Culpa?_ Many of the male students turned to watch Mary with intense focus swiveling in their seats into impossible positions just to catch a glimpse of her. Helen always wondered whether the focus was on her words or her looks.

"King Lear suffered a happy fall, meaning that to gain perspective on his life, he had to lose all of his worldly possessions. He essentially had to lose his mind to gain his sanity. Edgar laments that none of them shall ever go through the same process, they'll never be able to learn as much as King Lear did unless they learn to speak to one another and be honest. He is telling them to be better people."

Helen blinked.

 _Shit_. That was _so_ much better than her answer.

Mary beamed at Clare who seemed to be in as much surprise as the rest of the class was.

"Yes, perfect." A small smile appeared on the teacher's face, making her already small, bird-like features scrunch in happiness. "That's exactly what it means. You see, King Lear was a-"

Helen tuned out almost immediately, a scowl settling over her dark features. She tried to keep her gaze forward yet found herself unable to resist throwing a few accusatory glances at the perfect 'Miss Sue'.

Mary-Elizabeth Sue sat eagerly in her seat, elbows planted on the hard plastic desk, hands clasped under her chin in a contemplative manner, bottom scooched forward in her plastic chair just in case anyone mistook her for someone who wasn't eager to learn. Helen almost groaned as Mary's blonde head bobbed up and down as she agreed with whatever Clare was harping on about. Occasionally the pretty girl would ' _m_ _h_ _mm_ ' or say ' _yes, no I agree_ ' and Helen's frown would deepen in response every time.

It just wasn't _fair_ , she thought petulantly. How could she be so pretty, so popular, so rich _and_ so smart? _I mean_ , she continued with her inner monologue, _leave some for the little guy_. Her dark brown eyes quickly looked to her traitorous partner to gauge his reaction to her being shown up, only to catch him staring goofily at the devil in supermodel's skin. Louis' head would even occasionally bob along with Mary's as if he gave two shits about whatever the hell Clare was saying. Helen's mouth began to cramp with how hard she was frowning. On impulse her right foot lashed out, hitting Louis' shin. She felt a little bad at how much his face contorting in pain made her happy.

He shot her a filthy look and hunkered down in his seat, muttering something under his breath. _Whatever_ , Helen reasoned childishly, as long as he wasn't looking at Saint Mary anymore he could stay mad at her for as long as he liked. She didn't like the thought of Louis giving puppy eyes to anyone let alone her arch nemesis Mary Sue.

The girl in question hadn't noticed any of this exchange and had eyes only for the teacher. Helen scoffed and looked back down at her book. Twelve ninety-nine and a complete waste of money. She just didn't _get_ Shakespeare. She got the fact that he was the father of rhyme or whatever but she'd much rather read a modern book than read whatever the hell some guy who had died five hundred years previous had to say.

The rest of the class dragged on slowly despite Helen's 'five minutes more' mathematical breakthrough. Just before she thought she may pass out from boredom the bell sounded and the class let out a collective sigh of relief. Except Mary, of course. Her sigh was of frustration.

"Alright class," Clare called over the hustle of students trying to shove their possessions back into their backpacks. "No homework this weekend." _Score_ , thought Helen. "But I want you to review what we've said in class today and do some independent research. There'll be a small test on Monday and it'll be good for you to get some experience in independent research for university before you go so you aren't overwhelmed."

Helen groaned, loading her pencil case into her backpack and zipping it up. She wasn't _going_ to university and the idea of doing more research into a play she didn't care about made her feel a little ill. Or maybe that feeling was caused by what came out of Mary's mouth next.

"Wasn't there something else, miss?"

This time Helen wasn't the only one to glare at the pretty girl.

"Actually, yes, you're right, Mary." Clare gave a little laugh, as though she enjoyed ruining the lives of her students and took pleasure in their wasted weekends. "I almost forgot. I thought it might be quite a fun and enjoyable task for you to do." Helen immediately knew it was going to be the _least_ enjoyable thing she'd ever be made to do. "I want you to write a section of the play in a modern day setting. It doesn't have to be long, just take a few pages and change it up. It might help you to see how Shakespeare is still relevant today. Have it ready by Wednesday, please."

A chorus of despondent ' _yes miss's_ ' rang out throughout the classroom before they were eventually allowed to leave. Heads down shoulders hunched, the class converged into a single file line that almost resembled a funeral march. There was only one student who didn't feel the sentiment of the masses: Mary. With a straight back and wondrous smile on her face she thanked Clare 'for a wonderful and informative lesson' and skipped out of the classroom like the sun shone out of her arsehole.

If possible, Helen's bitch-face deepened. She managed to give a quick nod to Clare in thanks before rushing out of the room, Louis hot on her heels.

"So what're we doing tonight?" he asked, long legs propelling him forward with ease. If he was angry with Helen for her small act of violence, he didn't bother to mention it and for that she was mildly thankful. The beginnings of embarrassment were latching onto her for her rash actions and she didn't want to have to explain herself. She wasn't even sure _why_ she did it in the first place.

"Dunno. Something." She replied imaginatively, shouldering the main doors open for her and Louis to walk through.

Sunlight caused her to squint as they emerged out of the school's blue painted front doors. Her hand rose immediately to block its intense glare as she made her way out into the front grounds. Louis trailed behind her, occasionally stopping to say hi to some idiot or another. Helen had no such distractions as she cut a solitary path through the gathering students, barely mustering up a few _sorry's_ as she barged past the throngs. She received a couple of glares that barely fazed her in thanks.

She didn't have Louis' powers of conversation or Mary's powers of beauty and it was a wonder how she had any friends at all but it never bothered her. She preferred having a two close friends over five thousand 'acquaintances'.

As she reached the edge of the front grounds she came to a stop, clumsily dropping her backpack on the floor as she turned back around to look for Louis. He was talking to a Toby Meadows and Helen rolled her eyes at the sight. Toby was such an _idiot_ but Louis never seemed to mind whether his 'friends' were idiots (her and Amy being the exception, of course). _He's a nice guy_ , he would always say. Nice and dull, she would always thing but never say out loud. The threat of an inevitable argument at her harsh words was never worth it. Not with Louis. As she waited for him to be done socializing Amy Stuart sidled up beside her, bumping her shoulder with Helen's by way of greeting.

"One of these days your eyes are gonna pop out from all that glaring that you do." She said, loudly chewing a piece of gum around her words.

Helen snorted, turning to face the tall girl. Amy's short black hair was in the awkward stages of growing back after a pixie-cut-gone-wrong and though she always tried her best to style it flatteringly it very rarely ended in success. Helen reached out an impatient hand, smoothing a few flyway's back from her friends' face, a rare, soft smile forming.

"Piss off. How was class?"

"What're you? My mum?" Amy retorted, linking her arm with Helen's. She turned their body's back in time to catch Louis thump Toby on the back before jogging over to them. Helen stuck her tongue out at Amy's remark and the pale girl grinned as Louis came to a stop in front of them.

" _So_ ," he began conspiratorially. "Guess who got us invites to Rob Fellow's party tonight?"

Amy squealed at the same time that Helen groaned. "What? _How_?"

Helen let the smile drop from her face. "That guy sucks _arse_." she muttered eloquently. Louis ignored her.

"Toby invited us." He said, answering Amy.

"You mean he invited _you_." Helen grumped, wiggling her arm out of Amy's hold.

Louis sighed, running a frustrated hand through his brown hair. His eyes, a clear green, sparked with the beginnings of annoyance.

"Do you have to be such a _downer_ about everything?" He snapped, folding his arms across his chest.

Helen, seemingly blindsided, gaped at him wordlessly. Amy shifted uncomfortably. His face softened minutely and he sighed, uncrossing his arms as he did so. "It'll be _fun_ , 'El."

Helen didn't mention that the idea of getting drunk and dancing with a bunch of people who were ambivalent to her entire existence wasn't exactly her idea of 'fun'.

She looked at Amy, who was as eager as ever to socialize and felt equal stabs of jealousy and guilt. If she didn't go Amy either wouldn't either or would have such a shit time that she'd leave early.

Helen didn't want that on her conscience.

Yet at the same time she wished her friends would stop pushing her to socialize with people she just didn't _care_ about. Or rather, people she _might_ care about if she _could_ socialize. But that was too deep a self-reflective assessment and it was easier just to think of everyone else as annoying rather than think of herself as the problem.

A flash of blonde caught her attention across the way. Mary was laughing at something some twit had said. And not the fake laughter of someone trying to be nice that Helen often found herself employing. Mary's head was thrown back, long neck bared to the sunlight so that it shone golden. Her mouth was forced open, tongue pressed against her teeth in utter glee. Helen felt jealousy sliver down her spine. She just made it look so _easy_.

"Yeah. Ok." She found herself saying, forcing a smile as she looked back at Louis. "It'll be fun."

Louis whooped, long gangly arms descending to pull her into a hug. Helen resisted, of course, pushing at his chest until he had backed off.

"Let's go." She said, cutting off whatever he had been about to say. "The second bell will ring soon and I don't want to be-"

 _Fighting a fifth year for a seat on the bus_ is what she had been _going_ to say. But didn't. Because something washed over her right then. A coldness that seemed to settle over her skin, making her dizzy and uncomfortable at the same time. It sounded stupid but it was almost as if someone had walked all over her grave.

Silence fell across the front grounds and the only sound Helen could hear was her own, very loud, breathing. As if in slow motion she looked to Louis, who seemed suspended in time, mouth opened awkwardly as though he had been about to say something. She glanced at Amy, seeing her similarly frozen, gleeful face frozen in joy. She spared a few seconds on them before looking behind Louis back towards the rest of the students.

She didn't know why she did it. Surely she should be shouting and raving and trying to make Amy move her face but instead of bother to try and rouse her friends, there was one person her eyes sought out. It made no sense to her, nor would it ever make any sense to but she looked towards _Mary_ of all people in this strange timeless scene. She expected to find her suspended in time like everyone else but Mary was already looking at her. Her pretty blue eyes were wide with panic and her mouth moved slowly forming Helen's name almost at the same time that Helen found herself calling hers.

" _Ma-ry_?" She called, her voice stringy and elongated as though someone had stretched the decibels across time and space.

Determined, she made to step forward only to feel a _jolt_ in the air around her.

It was strange, this new sensation. It was as if everything was moving around her _but_ her. She was stuck in place as the world rushed past her until Louis and Amy and all of the kids she'd grown up with blurred and shifted and faded into nothingness. She tried to scream but found a large weight on her chest, pushing and pushing until she felt as though she couldn't breathe. All around was blackness but there, as far away as she had been stood, Mary hung suspended in the darkness too. She was mouthing something to Helen, shouting it maybe, but all Helen could hear was the blood whooshing past her ears as it pumped through her body. With every beat Mary drifted further and further away until she was lost to the darkness. Helen's eyes drooped and her breathes became shallow as the strange place of nothing seemed to close in around her.

 _Come_ , a voice whispered across he ether and Helen found herself nodding in obedience.

 **.**

TA 2963 Trollshaws, Nan Tornaeth

 **.**

God, she felt like _shit_.

More than shit. Because shit would imply that it would wear off eventually like a hangover or a cold but her pains felt permanent. Like she would never recover from such a horrible trauma. She must be dying, she theorized, because nothing but certain death could ever feel so _bad_.

She cranked open her eyes slowly, a groan bubbling up her throat. She was lying on her back and above her dizzying shapes filtered around black spots that appeared and disappeared. Or maybe it was the black spots that filtered around the shapes, instead. She didn't know. All she knew was that she _hurt_. Her head hurt. Her eyes hurt. Her arms hurt. Her legs hurt. _Everything_ hurt. And hurt so much that it just felt like her whole body was one big bruise. Even _blinking_ seemed to hurt.

Breathing deeply she tried to sit up, and immediately yelped at the way her brain seemed to tip inside her skull. She didn't even have time to roll to her side before vomit bubbled up through her throat. The force of it forced her to sit up, spinning head be damned and allowed her to promptly puke all over her bare legs. The bile burned the back of her throat and tears sprang to her eyes, growing larger as the fumes of stomach acid irritated them.

Throwing up was never a good experience but this just seemed like the worst of the worst. She looked down, watching as goblets of food and clear plasma slid across her brown skin. What a mess.

 _Christ_.

Head swimming, she did the only thing she could do, even as she felt like throwing up all over again: she wiped up her sick with her bare hands, scooping the sludge from skin to ground. She repeated the action until her skin was sticky but mostly dry, wiping off her palms on the grass she lay on. It was only as she ruined the scenery with her bodily fluids that she realized she _wasn't_ on the front playground anymore. Her voice was shaky when she eventually called for her friends, delayed panic warbling her normal tones.

"Louis?" Helen called, hand rising to clutch at the side of her spinning head as though a part of it may fall off, probably getting residual vomit in her hair. Ew. A new strain entered her voice as silence answered her question. " _Amy?!_ "

She stood up uncertainly, forcing her eyes to focus and make out her surroundings. Instead of concrete and students for as far as the eye could see, her non-school regulation shoes sunk into soft, grassy earth.

With bleary eyes she forced herself to look around, head throbbing.

Louis and Amy, as well as the rest of her student body was nowhere to be seen. Not even Mary was in sight and she was _always_ there when you didn't want her to be. In fact, there wasn't much _to_ see. She was in a copse of trees, perhaps even a forest. Large trunks surrounded her, mixtures of grey and dark, rising so high that she couldn't even make out the canopy from where she was stood. The trees were packed fairly close together with some medium sized gaps and no discernible paths in any direction. Someone had clearly driven for a long time to find a _forest_ to dump her in. It was dim at her level, barely any light filtered down to through the thick canopy above her and what light did manage to seep through was murky and unappealing.

She shivered in the shade, wishing she had worn tights that morning. What happened to summer?

With wobbling knees Helen attempted to step forward, only to have her legs collapse under her weight.

Her head throbbed as it impacted the grass floor and she suddenly thought about that time she had tried to do a header with the football in year three and missed exponentially. When she fell her head had smacked so loudly on the field and with such force that her horrified teacher had thought her skull had cracked upon impact. As her head bounced on the grass and her skull rattled and Helen could understand Mrs Hushland's fears.

With a groan and another helping of vomit just waiting to be spewed, she screwed her eyes shut, breathing deeply as she counted back from ten. It took three tries for her to be able to bear to sit up and another ten minutes for her to try to stand again. This time, before she fell, she pushed herself to one of the trees around her, hands scraping against its dark bulk as she used it for leverage. Her hands grew hot with stinging as she held on for dear life, lowering her forward to the jagged bark as she once again counted back to ten to settle her head.

Whatever joke Louis was trying to pull had just run a mile past 'ok prank material'. She managed to turn around slowly until her back rested against the uncomfortable tree, legs trembling as they struggled under her weight.

Something was very, _very_ wrong.

"Yeah _no shit_ …" she muttered to herself because the forest was quiet and panic had begun to claw at her innards. She almost wished she were dead rather than whatever hell she had just been dumped into. Being dead would have been _so_ much easier to deal with than being stuck in a random forest, covered in puke and probably miles from home or any kind of telephone. Hearing her voice was the only thing that stopped a full on panic attack. Like when she was five and afraid of the dark and to help with her fear she would talk and hum herself to sleep to ward off the demons. If you could hear your own voice, there couldn't possibly be anything evil under your bed, right? Right?

Helen tried her old calming tactic now, shakily humming a small tune. She closed her eyes, focusing on the repetitive short tune to help calm herself down and help her headache.

She heard a strange snuffling sound just over the newly found calm of her humming and her voice faltered, lullaby breaking in two. She forced herself to carry on, eyes still firmly shut, pushing the tune through trembling lips.

There's nothing there. _There's nothing there_.

Of course she knew it was dumb to keep her eyes closed with potential danger staring her (quite literally) in the face but her fear of the unknown was causing her to shake so badly that her voice shook and her hands twitched at her sides. A lump of fear rose in her throat so that her humming became scratchy and throaty and eventually nonexistent. It became very hard to breathe and her struggles sounded suspiciously like whimpers.

Helen had never been so ashamed to be scared.

She used to have fantasies about saving the world with long luxurious hair and shining beautiful eyes and in her fantasies she'd never once shown any fear and here she was; eyes shut, body trembling and about to wet herself over a sound.

A sound of which, she realized suddenly, there had been no repeat. Maybe she had just made it up. Yeah, she thought, desperately trying to calm her breathing. Maybe there was nothing there. Maybe-

"Ajog nar gagnaz lat, biavch."

Her eyes flew open and she felt her legs almost give way at the sight before her. Whatever joke Louis was playing it was decidedly very cruel. The thing standing before her was a sight of technical achievements. She almost went up to the thing to touch its face. Whoever had done its makeup deserved an Oscar.

That shit was on _fleek_.

Deep, sallow greens mixed with what looked like particularly slimy grey flesh all cut up and heaped on the persons face greeted her. It looked like layers of fake skin had been piled onto one another so that the creatures skin looked like it had natural grooves and lumps and bumps. Its head was oblong in shape and its nose looked far more like a snout than anything else. Its ears were long and pointed, chewed in places so that the flesh hung strangely. Its eyes were a putrid yellow and sunk deep into its face, flickering about her body with curiosity. Crudely made clothes covered the hulking figure and Helen wondered where they were hiding their stilts because she'd never seen anyone so tall in her entire life.

"Whaav?" The creature grunted and Helen had to commend this person's dedication to the role. Even their voice sounded low and garbled. They must be hiding a speech manipulator somewhere, she thought. Part of her panic sidled away as her and the creature locked eyes.

 _Of course_ , she reasoned suddenly, smiling with relief. Louis must have gone a little prank crazy and Ashton Kutcher was behind one of the trees just waiting for her to wet herself for prime time television. Well, she thought, she'd show them. "Nar maz kandog?"

Straightening against the tree she ignored its harsh speech and tried to forget about the way the words made her gut twist and her head swim strangely.

"I know Louis put you up to this." She said, feeling far braver than she felt but comforted by the fact that this was all one big joke and it would end very, very soon.

The person in the horrible mask titled their head to the side and a horrible click sounded making Helen jump. He spat at his feet and Helen grimaced. _This person is_ _ **so**_ _dedicated_ , she thought. He or she grunted, taking a step towards her and something at his belt glinted in the dim, murky light filtering down from the high canopy. Helen immediately looked towards a serrated knife strapped to his side that she hadn't noticed before. The edges were black and rusted and the creatures gnarled, bandaged left hand immediately went to rest on the hilt of what Helen really, really hoped was a toy knife.

"Losog." It grunted, straightening his neck.

It made no further move to come towards her for which Helen was thankful for. Whatever bravado she had felt before seemed to leave her body in one big whoosh as it fingered the handle of the large knife. There was a little voice at the back of her head that niggled away at her fragile sense of hope.

 _This isn't a prank_ , it screeched, _run run run_ _ **this isn't a prank**_ **.**

"Leav'uk plaausan ij losug."

A smell clouded her vision and she scrunched her nose at the offending scent, almost gagging at the putrid, cloying odor of decaying meat and something _else_. Something that made her toes curl in her vagabond's, scratching against the sweaty material of her knee-high socks. The thing whistled through the gaps in its teeth and the smell assaulted her senses again, leaving her to push her head against the tree as if asking it to swallow her head so that she may never be subjected to such a stench again.

"Awaausan faav biavch. Mog caavcheuk lat." The thing laughed and in one fluid motion unsheathed the mammoth knife and stared at her with glee filled eyes. The rusted blade swung by his side easily as though he was used to pulling out large knives in front of school girls. Helen had no idea what was going on and made one last attempt to get this all to stop before she really embarrassed herself by pissing her panties.

"Louis. This isn't _funny_ anymore." She ground out, breathe hitching as she made an effort to push away from the tree as if to make herself seem bigger. What a sight I must be, she thought absently. _Knee high socks,_ _dirty jumper and off white collared shirt,_ _rumpled school skirt_ _and vomit all down my thighs_. Perfect. _This is how I'll enter stardom_. _Crying_ (it was only then that she felt the cool breeze against wetness on her cheeks) _and soiled. Leonardo DiCaprio will never marry me now_.

Which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the best thing to be thinking when a (possibly most likely) real life demon was about to hack your body to pieces and eat your bones.

"Zunn." The beast growled, voice oddly high-pitched as if it was singing to her as it stepped forwards again.

Helen squealed in response and in that moment she could _swear_ she felt a little pee seep out. If this thing didn't kill her she was almost certain she'd die of embarrassment. "Kirth. Hokh. Let."

Helen had no idea what the fuck the thing was saying but with every word it stepped a little closer. With no intention of finding out what the thing meant or, more importantly, dying, she side-stepped around the tree, pitching forward into a run before she could even register what her limbs were doing. From fear or adrenaline (or maybe the world had just decided to stop shitting on her for five seconds) her headache evaporated and her legs stopped wobbling long enough to propel her forwards into the trees and away from that thing. Because let's face it, it wasn't a man in a mask. And if it wasn't a man in a mask it meant that that thing was _real_. And that meant that she was wrong, and she had probably died but had gone to hell for calling Mary Sue a goody two-shoes every day in her head for fifteen years.

She could hear the beast laughing behind her, loud hacking sounds that seemed to carry over the space between them and slide into her heart to plant fear. Crying openly now she ran for a little while, until she could no longer hear the thing behind her. Risking a glance and breaking every rule of survival in horror movies known to girls across the world she looked behind her, seeing nothing but darkening woods in her wake. She breathed a sigh of relief, only to let out a yelp as she turned back around as she almost collided with another beast, only tilting to the side at the last moment to avoid impact. Her feet tripped and she hit the ground in a tumble of limbs. This one was shorter than the last but equally as repulsive looking. She flipped onto her back before shakily getting to a stand. The _thing_ did nothing but stare at her and through the ruins that were its face Helen could swear she could see it smiling.

A whistle sounded that sounded suspiciously like the one the other beast had done earlier and Helen skittered to the side, breaking off into a sprint not caring what direction she went in as long as it took her far, far away from those _things_.

Heart in throat she continued for a while, only to spy another thing to her left, far off yet watching her with the same leer as the other one. She wondered why they weren't attacking as she veered off into another direction and it wasn't until this happened twice more that she realized they were _herding_ her.

Like _cattle_.

She was someone's _sport_.

And cattle were only ever good for one thing.

She knew right then that she was going to be eaten alive. Bile rose again in her throat and she swallowed it down, tasting the bitterness on the edge of her tongue as a scream tore through her throat.

"Help!" she shouted. And kept shouting until her legs burned and slowed and her chest tightened so much she thought she may just die from the pain alone.

She could hear them now, behind her. It seems they had gotten her to run wherever they wanted and had grown tired of her running about like a headless chicken. As she slowed due to exhaustion they gained on her until she could almost feel their breath painting the back of her neck. Thoughts of being eaten slowly filled her head and her will to live gave her once last push. She sped up spying a clearing up ahead. If she could just find people. If she could just find _people_ -

As if answering a prayer, a shout came from ahead and Helen strained to hear what they were saying but found the words foreign and more importantly, seemingly coming from thin air. She didn't know if they were friend or foe but she was going to take her chances. Instead of shifting direction she ran towards the new voices.

"Dad!" They shouted. " _Dad_!"

Why the hell was someone calling for their _dad_? Helen thought as she neared the clearing.

Something scraped the back of her neck and she yelped, stumbling slightly but managing to regain her footing at the last possible moment. All she could hear now was the heavy breathing of the beasts behind her and the blood rushing through her ears and above that, somewhere in the distance, a high pitched keening. She focused on that sound, willing herself to make sense of the words her mind recognized.

" _Down_ Helen! Duck down! Dive _**now**_!"

Without even questioning the command she made a dive for the ground as she got to the edge of the clearing, arms coming up to take the brunt of her fall. She fell onto her front and the impact was jarred her whole body. She flopped once, twice, eventually coming to a painful stop. Multiple twanging sounds surrounded her followed by great hollers. Thuds and grunts and low wailing could be heard behind her and just as she thought she could get up something heavy fell on top of her. A shooting pain lanced up her side and the breath whooshed out of her. Whatever it was was _crushing_ her. With her head lying on its side she watched as several pairs of booted feet rushed past her followed by the peculiar high-pitched _swishng_ sounds of swords being unsheathed.

Whatever happened next happened very quickly. A mixture of war cries and answering snarls sounded until something grunted one last time and a heavy thud sounded near her feet.

Helen hardly paid it any mind as she staved off unconsciousness as the thing lying on her threatened to suffocate her. She struggled to draw breath into her lungs, hands clawing the earth, nails breaking and snapping against the densely packed dirt. Her side smarted and her body hurt and her legs were beginning to get pins and needles from the lack of circulation. She floundered like a fish, panicking in the face of death.

Boots came into her line of vision again and she found it so _strange_ that she hadn't heard them approach. The weight was lifted off her and she immediately rolled onto her back, gasping for breath, uncaring of the way her skirt had hiked up her thighs or how she had most probably wet herself a little bit more. All she could think about was the fact that she could breathe and the sun was shining and-

Wait.

 _No_.

No that wasn't the sun at all.

It took her eyes a moment to stop dancing around in their sockets before her vision became clear. Once her eyes had focused she found herself looking at a man who was- fucking _hell_.

Was he _glowing_?

Radiant, blonde hair cascaded down his sides and medieval, silver armour, splattered with a sticky looking black substance, adorned his body. His face- _Christ_.

She didn't have _time_ for this, she thought with a huff, forcing herself to sit up despite the ache in her body.

Louis was in _so much_ trouble.

First he scares her half to death then he hires a hot guy to save her? More boots came into vision and she found herself looking up at a circle of beings that had formed around her. They were each tall and foreboding and she wondered if she had made a mistake in running towards them.

Jesus, she thought dumbly, where had Louis found ten hot men to act in his dumb prank? All long haired and fair of face they watched her blankly, keen bright eyes noting her every movement. Except they weren't _all_ men, she realized with growing annoyance. In fact, she wasn't even sure they _were_ men. Each and every single one of them was giving off a faint glow and no one was _that_ pretty. But that seemed like the wrong discussion to start having right at that moment as the stench of death filled her nostrils and vomit threatened to spew out of her nose.

Helen groaned around her bubbling puke. No. They weren't all (maybe)men. Standing directly in front of her and looking at her with a mixture of relief, fear and disgust was Mary-Elizabeth- _fucking_ -Sue.

Because of _course_ she was there too.

Helen couldn't even be saved by angels without Mary Sue swooping in to steal the glory.

" _Mary_?!" she spat incredulously. The girl in question smiled tentatively, only to step back at the venom in Helen's voice when she demanded, "what the _fuck_ is going on?"

* * *

 **Translations**

Black Speech:

"Ajog Nar gagnaz, lat biavcb." Literal: _That no Helper you bitch_. Meaning: _That won't help you, bitch_.

"Whaav? Nar maz kandog?" Literal: _What? No more sing?_

I have no idea if these ones are right but: "Losog. Leav'uk plaausan ij losug." Literal: _Game. Let's play a game_. (I know game is right but the rest is a mystery.)

"Awaausan faav biavch. Mog caavcheuk lat" Literal: _Away, fat bitch. Mog catches you_.

"Zunn. Kirth. Hokh. Let." _Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven._

Sindarin:

"Dad! _Dad_!" Literal: "Down. _Down_!"

 **Author Notes**

I'd like to start this by saying that I'm not here to bash Mary Sue's. I'm going to actively try to not take too many cheap shots at them. Truth be told, I don't really even mind Mary Sue's. If they're written well then they can sometimes be enjoyable you must admit that it's sometimes nice to imagine yourself as someone who is perfect at everything.

First and foremost, this is me trying to write a comedy. Most of my work is serious and angsty and I wanted to write something lighthearted and (hopefully) funny. I'm not the best writer in the world but I try my best.

This story is about female friendship, abandonment and sisterhood. And eventually I'd like for you all to come to like Mary because, deep down, all a Mary Sue wants is for the greater good to win and is there something so wrong in that?

This is a pretty generic beginning for an idea that's probably already been done before and for that I apologise. I may go back and change it but for now I kind of like how it's gone. Thank you for reading and do try leave a review if you can (: It would be much appreciated.

Have a lovely week, Aobh x


	2. Two

Bright grey light shone down in the clearing, making the heads of the (maybe) men appear backed by some off-white halo. Mary, still slightly put out by Helen's tone, hesitated in answering. She bit her lip, pulled the full pink flesh into her mouth and chewed on it cutely. Helen's annoyance grew at how perfect she looked while doing it.

" _Well?_ " Helen demanded, biting into the awkward silence.

Mary let go of her lip, eyebrows lowering over her eyes as she frowned, mouth opening and closing as she tried to find the right thing to say.

The (maybe) men hadn't budged an inch and watched her blankly and Helen found their unmoving dead-eyed stare really creepy.

They all seemed to be brunette save for the one who resembled a blonde glow in the dark sticker who stood beside Mary, towering over her small frame. Helen chanced a look towards him only to find his blue-grey eyes were boring a hole into her head the size of Venus. She tried not to visibly flinch at the intensity of his gaze and ended up choking on her own saliva. He watched her struggle and cough around the trapped spit without so much as a blink. She snapped her head to stare at Mary trying to disguise her coughing as she did.

The difference in height between her sitting and the too-tall (maybe) men standing was almost Everest in proportion and made her feel claustrophobic and three inches tall at the same time. She longed to stand to even out the indifferences but her chest was still tight, her side _really_ hurt and honestly she just didn't think she could hold her own weight yet. So instead she kept her eyes steadily on Mary. Being the shortest of the circle and clearly still just dumb _Mary_ she was less intimidating and Helen didn't have to bend her neck backwards just to look her in the eye.

"Mary," she began angrily, after her coughing fit had subsided. "If you don't answer me right _fucki_ -"

"Do you always have to swear?" Mary snapped, exasperated, hands rising to rest on her hips.

Helen blinked thrice at her and almost burst into laughter. Mary was nit-picking her on her _swearing_? _Now_? Of all times? When they were the only two kids from their school in the middle of a random forest surrounded by a bunch of model-esque guys who just so _happen_ to wearing armor? This is all happening of course, after they had (most likely) been drugged and kidnapped? Helen wanted to shake Mary for a few hours, just to see if anything came rattling out of her seemingly hollow head.

"What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?" she growled, gesturing about her with her sticky with sweat and vomit residue hands, pointing to the circle of men who _still_ hadn't moved. "How did we get here? Did Louis put you up to this? Who the hell _are_ these guys? Are they paid actors? What the hell was that thing chasing me through the woods and will someone _please_ tell m- **oh** \- Mary oh my _God_ -"

With a gasp her sentence stopped abruptly. The air still felt strange being pulled so quickly through her still recovering lungs and she choked at the end. Her eyes were riveted to a spot just beyond Mary's legs. Through the gap between pale flesh she could see the prone, unmoving body of one of the things that had chased her.

Sticking up through the back of its head was an arrow.

Her mind emptied of everything important and all she could think was _of course_ , that's what the twanging sound had been. Of course. _Of course_. But the irrational side of her brain registered death and her proximity to it and shoved her body into a physical reaction to the sight.

With strength she didn't think she possessed she stood up like a bullet, shooting into a standing position. Though perhaps, too quickly because not a second later, and like a repeat of earlier, she promptly bent at the waist and threw up.

 _Again_.

It was violent and long and her whole body shook with the force of it. Helen was actually surprised none of it managed to shoot through her nostrils.

Luckily, this time she managed to avoid her own body. Unfortunately, (which was a word she was coming to believe had been solely created to provide description when talking about her life) it seems that she was just destined to continuously put her foot in it that day.

Someone shouted " _Ai_!" and there was a small kerfuffle beyond her line of sight. A small warm hand came to rest on her back, rubbing in slow, soothing circles and another reached over to gather her hair into a loose ponytail as she hacked and heaved until her stomach was empty and she was swaying on her feet.

" _They're dead_." She managed to moan, lifting a shaking hand to wipe across her wet mouth. The smell of acidic bile was strong and she almost threw up again from the stench of it all.

What a mess, she thought, helplessly.

Helen realized, then, that she really, _really_ wanted her mum.

She hadn't wanted her mum so badly since year eleven when Ian Turner had rejected her in the chip shop at the end of Castle Lane and she'd run home crying from the sheer embarrassment of it all. The same overwhelming feelings of shame (from throwing up on what she now knew, without even looking, had probably been one of the weird (maybe) men's shoes) and loneliness rose up and tears stung the corners of her eyes, mingling with the erosion from the acid that wafted from the steaming pile of vomit on the floor below her.

They're dead, she kept thinking. And each time she reiterated the statement a new stab of fear clutched at her gut. They're dead. They're dead. They're dead.

They _**killed**_ them.

The hand at her back kept up the soothing motion and rather than feel comforted Helen let out a strangled half-sob and lurched forward, vagabonds traipsing through her own waste until she was clear of the wet earth. She turned quickly, pointing an accusing finger at Mary whose hand still hovered in the air where she had been petting Helen's back.

" _ **Mary**_." She stuttered, hand shaking as she pointed. The agonized way in which she said the name made it resemble a plea. She sounded very young and very small and her shame at her vulnerability mounted.

"Mary they're _**dead**_." It no longer mattered that Mary was an annoying little sprite of annoyingness and it no longer mattered that Helen would rather scoop her eyeballs out with a melon baller than be anywhere alone with her. All that mattered was that surrounded in the forest and a slew of dead bodies Mary was the only thing that was familiar. Agitated murmurs sounded behind her but she ignored them, giving Mary her full attention.

The blonde girl was watching her with an expression of pity and Helen, wanted to smack the look off of her beautiful face.

"Helen, it's alright." Mary tried, raising her hands, palms up as if she were surrendering. "I'll explain but you have to calm down."

If anything, Helen's panic doubled at her schoolmates' words.

"Mary we just witnessed a _murder_. Oh god. Oh God." Helen's voice pitched higher and higher with every word she uttered until the resulting sound was strained and stringy with panic. "Mary we have to call the _police_."

Mary daintily side-stepped the puddle of puke and slowly made her way towards Helen who was gulping in large lungful's of air as though all the oxygen in all of the world was about to run out. Mary glanced behind Helen's head, lips tight at the sight of the men watching her school friend lose all bodily control in her panic. _It's not her fault_ , she wanted to say in defense of the girl, _she's in shock_. But she knew they wouldn't understand her and she didn't have the proficiency in their language to relay the message in Sindarin so she gave a quick shake of her blonde head, perfect ponytail whipping to and fro against her back.

Helen hardly noticed her approach, so far was she into her panic attack that she didn't register Mary's presence at all until the girl's pale, slim hands were covering her shoulders.

"Helen. _Breathe_. It's ok. It's ok."

God how she hated this, Helen thought. If she wasn't about to puke out her stomach she'd have glared at Mary and told her to _do one_. Instead her hands clenched into fists as she tried to stave off the onset of panic.

"Where's your phone? We have to call the police. They're _murderers_." Helen gasped, new fear creeping into her already crumpled expression. "We're accomplices! Mary. If we tell them what happened- that we were at school and then we were here maybe they'll let us go if we testify against-" here her voice dropped to a whisper. " _Them_."

The 'them' in question surrounded the girls five to one and though they looked passive, Mary noted quite observantly the tightness to their mouths and the sharpness of their gazes. They wouldn't tolerate this for much longer. They barely tolerated it _now_.

Helen was babbling, incoherent words melding together until it was a string of nonsense that rose higher and higher in volume, intermingled here and there with gasps and high-pitched squeaks. Mary's hands tightened on her shoulders imperceptibly as one of the men made as if to walk towards them. His thick, blonde hair was loose around his handsome face and he watched them blankly, even as his long legs twitched in their direction. Stripes of cloth and two lengths of rope hung limply in his hands.

 _We're running out of time_ , Mary thought, biting her lip.

Mary soothed her hands up and down Helen's shoulders, murmuring softly to counteract Helen's rising voice. Eventually, though, Helen's panic won over and she, looking behind Mary, gave a sudden squeak at the slight movement of one of the (maybe) men who watched them. The squeak turned into a low, throaty moan that stuck and broke and then stuck again as if sliding through gallons of saliva. That, too, then evolved into a scream. She shoved Mary away with surprising force, stepping backwards on unsteady feet.

"Helen!" Mary called, recovering from being shoved and once again holding her hands up and she walked slowly forward, following the screaming girl step for step. She needn't had bothered, however, because Helen had only taken three steps before she backed into something hard. Mary watched as one of the other men positioned himself behind Helen. His dark hair was pulled from his face into twin braids that ran down the length of his back and his handsome features were blank, save for the tightness of his full lips. One hand rose up slip over Helen's mouth to silence her and the other arm wrapping around Helen's waist to restrain her movements.

Helen had no idea what had just happened.

One moment she's screaming and near to passing out from shock and the next someone's gloved hand is over her mouth and her arms are pinned to her sides because _someone's_ long arm is practically wrapped around her whole body. Her mouth had been open in a scream and it stayed open now from the force of his hand on her face. Her tongue pressed against his gloves and she tried not to gag. They smelt and tasted of weathered leather.

Instead of struggling she went limp against the person, body uncomfortably settled against the sharp metal of his armor. He was saying something above her head and Helen felt a strange calm settle over her. Her panic ebbing away slowly. It made way for other, more rational thoughts to enter her mind and she breathed a sigh of relief onto his glove.

To compensate for their difference in height, he pulled her roughly back and slightly upwards against him so that she was almost dangling, head barely skimming the top of his chest. His low, calm voice kept up a steady stream of soft foreign words directly into her ear. He must have bent his head because she could feel his cool breath fanning against the top of her lobe. It was oddly intimate and impossible to ignore his voice so she listened, eyes almost drooping in complacency, forgotten tears slowly drying.

Through half-lidded eyes Helen watched with mild, lessening suspicion as Mary stopped her approach looked at the brunette with pity in her brilliant eyes. Some of the other (maybe) men had gathered behind Mary, all showing varying degrees of no emotion. The blonde one with the blue-grey eyes stepped forward suddenly and leaned down to whisper something into Mary's ear.

Helen's body, so limp in her captor's arms that his hold had become slowly become loose around her waist due to her obedience, flew into a sudden rage at the sight of the conspirators.

Mary turned her head slightly to whisper something back to the blonde (maybe) man and gesture towards Helen's captive body. They looked like old friends. Two shades of blonde hair mingling as they whispered about Helen and probably planned her to shoot an arrow into the back of _her_ skull.

Helen snapped out of the strange calmness that had lulled her into a false sense of security. Her whole body gave a single twitch before she lashed out, pushing against the iron hold around her, legs swinging to and fro in her rage. She was sure she looked absolutely wild, head shaking and arms straining and a growl in her throat and betrayal in her eyes. His arm tightened around her middle and his voice increased in volume as he tried to soothe her but the pressure and sound only prompted her to fight harder.

As a last ditch effort for freedom she bit down sharply on the (maybe) man's hand. She must have caught him off guard because his words cut off and a yelp shot through his chest against her back. He tore his hand away from her sharp teeth with a sound of annoyance before speaking rapidly again. His tone was strained and Helen knew, even without understanding, that he was cursing in whatever strange language he spoke.

Though he had released her mouth, her sneak attack had the opposite effect on the arm around her waist. It tightened to near choking, squeezing her to hard that her side burned in response. If it wasn't for her sheer determination to bitch Mary out, he might have succeeded in keeping her quiet by squeezing all the air out of her lungs.

"You're _with_ them?!" She yelled, hurt pitching her voice low. She was practically growling.

Mary started at the venom in Helen's voice, taking, as she had earlier, an instinctive step back at the ferocity of the girl before her. Her eyes, already doe-like in shape widened in fear and her hands shook as she lowered them from their surrendering stance in front of her.

The blonde (maybe) man straightened in one fluid motion before slowly making towards Helen's dangling body, lengths of rope and cloth swinging in his hand. She barely spared him a disinterested glance, she was too busy hurling accusations at Mary to worry about her own safety, so great was her sense of betrayal.

"You're _disgusting_!" she shouted, new tears of anger and frustration wetting her eyes. She tried to kick at the guy holding her but her shin caught the armor on his legs and she hissed at the pain.

Heart pounding in her chest and isolation closing in around her. Everything seemed less real with Mary standing by the bad guys and Helen left all alone. It was almost like a bad movie except Helen could still smell the bitter stench of death in the murky air and could still, around the various bodies of the (maybe) men, see the lifeless corpses of those _things_.

"I knew you were rotten the moment I saw you in year one! How _could_ you? You make me _sick_!"

Even from as far as she was being restrained, Helen could still make out the tale-tell signs of tears beginning to form in Mary's bright blue eyes. She took a grim satisfaction at having affected the murderous little bitch so much that she had _cried_.

The blonde man suddenly stepped into her line of vision and she was forced to take some notice him. Helen, suddenly realizing that she was running out of time to vocalize just how lowly she thought of Mary-Elizabeth, suddenly kicked up the ante.

"You're a spineless little snake, Mary! I swear to God I'm gonna make sure you that you-"

But she never got to finish her oath to Mary and describe to her what she hoped would happen to her in prison because the (maybe) man stopped before her, bending slightly at the waist so that their eyes were the same level. Without pausing he reached behind her neck with his free hand and tipped her head forward. The feel of his fingers (ungloved and cool) startled her so much that she choked on her own words.

For a second Helen though he was going to slice her neck and be done with it. God knows she'd been enough trouble already. They'd killed those things so easily, she reasoned, it would be no notch on their conscience to get rid of one pesky A-Levels student in comparison.

But he didn't slice her neck. Instead he brought his other hand up and fastened a strip of cloth around her head and wedged it into her mouth, effectively gagging her. Helen's eyes, which had been glued to the ground, shot up as he released her head. With no words to chew him out with she instead put all of her hate for Mary and the (maybe) men murderers into one show-stopping glare.

Helen was pretty proud of her glaring abilities. They were renown around the school for being top-grade conveyors of annoyance. Her glares had cleared rooms. They'd scattered year eleven's and year eight's alike. They were singular weapons of destruction. One time she'd glared so hard she had to be sent home because she'd gotten a migraine. _That_ was how good her glares were.

So she glared at the (maybe) man and _kept_ glaring until he looked up from trying to reposition her gag to lock eyes with her. She found that up close, the blue of his eyes almost overwhelmed the grey to create a strange storming effect. Under any other circumstances she would have swooned at the sight of his almond-shaped eyes. Grey eyes were a rare enough commodity that the sight alone of them would make her knees go a little jellified but the pair staring back at her impassively almost _glowed_.

Like the (maybe) men and their weird light-filled bodies (who Helen was beginning to think were possibly aliens), this one's eyes seemed to shine a little. As if backlit by some ethereal light. It was startling, to say the least. And, coupled with the fact that mister tall blonde and handsome was probably seven foot of water on a hot day, also _very_ attractive. But none of this stopped Helen from levelling him with one of her most poisonous glares. Murderers don't get appreciative looks and compliments, after all.

She fully expected him to flinch.

That was the normal reaction she got to her glares and those were only your run of the mill get-out-of-my-way-its-Tuesday glares. This glare was a you're-going-to-kill-me-and-I'm-going-to-hate-you-all-the-way-to-my-grave, glare.

Instead, however, the (maybe) man did something incredibly peculiar.

One of his eyebrows, thick and a dark blonde to counteract his sun-like hair, rose as if he were asking ' _really_?'.

His eyes, even as his arms moved to grab at her hands that were pinned to the side by the silent giant behind her, lost a part of their emotionless impassivity. Instead, strangely enough and entirely perplexing in nature, they brightened with what she could only assume was _amusement_.

He didn't look away, even as he tugged at her hands to bring them to rest in front of her, winding the thick string around her wrists to secure them.

Her glare waned until she watched him with the utmost confusion as his amusement seemed to grow until the corner of one of his eyes almost crinkled.

He was _laughing_ at her.

Laughing. At _her_.

This honest to God medieval wannabe murderer was laughing at her glare.

Not only could she still feel the sharp sting in her heart from Mary's betrayal, the knot of despair in her stomach at her new isolation and anger at having been restrained against her will as if _she_ were the one who had killed a man- _thing_ but now a new emotion crept up on her: embarrassment.

She didn't know _why_ she was embarrassed. This was, after all, a murderer and why should she care what a _murderer_ thought about her? But it still stung and the new emotion only added to the turmoil she felt and a few of her tears (which had gathered and held, threatening to fall) freed themselves from the restraints of her eyes. They trickled down her cheeks pathetically to absorb into the cloth of her gag which, she found with new annoyance, was already biting into the skin of the corners of her mouth.

The subtle barely-there amusement from the (maybe)man abruptly left and he gave her another weirdly emotionless look as he shook her hands and tugged at the rope around her wrists, checking to see if they were secure. She watched him the entire time, managing after a moment to dredge up a weak glare. There was no answering amusement in his steady gaze and after a moment he stood up straight so quickly that her vision swam trying to follow the movement.

How the hell had he moved so _fast_?

He turned away from her, still blocking her view of Mary and barked out something in that strange language too quickly for Helen to even be able to discern words. Though it sounded like one long note of a song to her the reaction to his speaking was instantaneous. The (maybe) man that had an arm wrapped around her suddenly let go and she slid down his body until her feet reconnected fully with the floor. He allowed her to sag against him for a moment before he side-stepped around her and, before she could even take a breath, attached a line of string to her bound wrists and tugged on it a few times to make sure that it was secure.

All around her (maybe) men had burst into motion, all moving at the same inhuman pace as the blonde man who had gagged her. She spied a few of them by the dead bodies (she counted nine in total) and quickly turned away from the sight of them tugging arrows out of the thing's heads and legs and arms and backs. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably, the knot flopping over in nervousness.

She turned to look at was looking at nothing in particular as one of the men crouched beside her, and spoke softly into her ear. He was pointing to the right, nodding his head in that direction and eventually, as if she finally understood what he was saying, Mary walked over to the edge of the clearing and waited by a tree.

Helen felt a jolt as the (maybe) man that had tied the length of rope to her bound wrists straightened and turned away, pulling on the end of the rope. The feeling of being cattle reared its head again and she dug her heels into the ground tugging at her hands. He didn't even bother to turn around, only kept walking, savagely tugging at the string until Helen had no choice but to walk or _fall_.

They walked towards Mary who had been joined by five of the other (maybe) men including the blonde one who seemed to the be the leader.

 _Where were the other, four?_ Helen thought, counting her cattle-wrangler as the sixth of ten that were supposed to be there. The blonde man gave a whistle and they started walking into the line of trees, away from the bodies of the dead and back into the forest. Two of the men, both brunette and as emotionless as the others walked first, then Mary then another two brunettes and then the blonde. Helen's leader tugged at her string as he followed the others, not bothering to look to see if Helen was alright as he walked after his murderous friends.

Helen stumbled after him and, at the last moment, stretched her head backwards to look for the other (maybe) men. They were still by the bodies of the dead _things._ Two of them were carrying a body between them, swinging it to and fro before finally releasing it onto a pile of the other carcasses.

Helen was confused until she saw that one of them knocking two stones together above a stick with cloth wrapped onto the end. The primitive torch caught fire almost immediately and the orange flames were strangely startling grey light that covered the clearing.

Just as she was tugged past the tree line she watched the guy throw the torch onto the pile of bodies. They must have poured petrol onto the bodies, she thought, stunned, as the carcasses went up in flames, because they caught fire so quickly. One of the men caught eyes with her as she made it around the tree, his light grey orbs perfectly reflecting the violent orange-red of the flames.

Helen felt like throwing up all over again.

 **.**

They made her walk for _hours_.

Her Vagabonds, inappropriate for school and inappropriate, it seemed, for casual treks through random forests, clinched at her feet painfully. Her feet had swelled from sweat and confinement and her socks rubbed uncomfortable against the inflamed flesh. She could already feel a mammoth blister forming on the heel of her right foot.

No one had spoken to her during the day, even as the light waned and darkness began to trickle down to them and it became harder and harder for Helen to see where she was being dragged. Not even the (maybe) man who was tugging her along behind him even bothered to speak to her. She heard them speaking to each other, however. In low, musical tones that sounded less like fully formed sentences and more like intricate songs without words. Her only comfort was the fact that Mary hadn't said a word either.

Helen could occasionally spy her. Her blonde her seemed to capture the dying daylight and throw it back into Helen's annoyed face and she could often see her form peeking from between the line of glowing bodies that separated them.

The blonde man had moved from in front of her to behind and though Helen knew that he was there (because she occasionally looked behind her to glare at him, only of course, to receive blank stares in response) she couldn't ever hear him. It's why she kept looking behind her so often -well, that and the fact that she was determined to let it be known that she was _not_ happy- to make sure that he was still there.

He was always there, of course. Following steadily and calmly. As though he walked through forests every day of his life.

She often watched his feet connect to the floor silently and it made her theory about the (maybe) men being aliens become less and less of an errant, desperate thought and more of a reality. It was on one of these long hard looks at his feet before the daylight vanished completely that she noticed a strange, wet sheen against his weird brown boots. It wasn't the same as the black blood that she saw on his armor that had dried and become crusty in some places from the air. In fact, it _almost_ resembled the dried vomit on her legs.

It took her a few hours to realize it was _exactly_ like the dried vomit on her legs. She remembered the yelp and the kerfuffle that had followed her less than perfect entrance into the group and bit her lip nervously at the thought that she had puked on her captors' shoes. Surely that was like, a week of torture, right? You don't just puke on your kidnappers' shoes and expect to get away with it.

That was when she stopped struggling so much with her bonds. Never usually one to give in, Helen found herself making it easier on herself and her designated walking leader by following him dutifully. She'd already screwed up majorly by puking on the head-honcho's shoes. The last thing she wanted to do was add another week's worth of lashings because she refused to play along.

After her miraculous turn around (which included the silencing of her many grunts and tries to scream behind her gag) she looked back at the blonde boss, only to see his impassive expression replaced by one of what seemed to almost be contemplative confusion. He wasn't looking at her at all, instead his eyes were on the forest floor as he expertly maneuvered around sticks and stones and anything there to trip him up. Helen watched him for a while before a sharp tug at her wrists had her quickly turning her gaze back around. She managed to successfully duck under a branch without falling on her bottom and she didn't look back at him again.

Voices, low and gentle like a singing breeze sounded and instead of being tugged straight, her herder took a hard right, pulling her rope so she followed. She managed to follow without falling (although not without indulging in one last annoyed grunt) although couldn't avoid scraping her side against a tree. Pain like never before shot up her side and she gasped behind her gag, sucking in a short breath of dry air that tickled her throat. Holy shit that had hurt. In fact, it was the same side that had hurt her since the beast had fallen on top of her. She focused on the pain, noting the way her skin had cooled on that side as though it were wet. Why would it be wet?

Regardless, now that she had acknowledged the pain it grew and grew until it was almost unbearable. She continued to walk behind her cattle herder but her steps became uncoordinated and she found herself stumbling painfully every few minutes. How had she not noticed before how terrible her side felt? If she had been shot, she knew without a doubt that it wouldn't burn as much as it did now.

A whistle, short and piercing sounded and Helen looked up with bleary eyes to notice that they had entered into another clearing. Night had fully descended now and the woods were dark. So dark, in fact, that the only thing visible was the soft, almost imperceptible glowing of each body of the (maybe) men. The one herding her tugged her to the side, pulling until they stood before what looked to be like a large felled log. He pointed at the wood and jerked his head from her to it. She knew a command when she saw one.

"Haf." He said, speaking to her for the first time. To the side of them one of the men was starting a fire by knocking two stones together and the sound captured her attention. _Flint_ , her pain-filled mind supplied. " _Haf_!" he said again, drawing her attention back to his.

She had no idea what _haf_ meant but she assumed it meant something like sit-your-annoying-arse-down so she complied, weary enough to only manage a sneer before plucking down on the seat. Her feet sung praises of joy at having been allowed a small respite and she kicked off her shoes in response, hot, swollen feet throbbing in the cold night air. It wasn't until she'd stopped walking that she allowed the tiredness to creep over her body.

She sat awkwardly, bound hands hunched in front of her, body bent to the side stiffly so that she wouldn't irritate whatever had gone wrong with the side of her abdomen. Perhaps it was only a really bad bruise she hoped, but that same strange feeling of wetness, slick down her side to the top of her skirt reminded her that the truth was probably a little more nefarious.

Around her the men worked without even sparing her a glance. A fire was lit and nurtured into a large pit.

Helen looked about her blearily as the fire cast an orange glow over her kidnappers. She noticed that the four who had been absent at the start of their walk had come back. Their armor was clean and she assumed that after they had burned the bodies of their victims that they had cleaned themselves of any evidence. Helen was so focused on ignoring the burning pain at her side that she didn't even notice Mary had come to sit quietly beside her.

"I'm sorry." She murmured, staring straight ahead guiltily.

Heat wafted over towards the two girls and Helen was thankful for the warmth that lowered the goosebumps on her bare legs. She grunted in response, trying to ignore how closely Mary had chosen to sit next to her. She couldn't shift away for fear of upsetting her side so she bore the proximity with a gagged snarl.

"I know you don't believe me but they aren't- well they _are_ -" Mary cut off with a groan of frustration. Helen noticed out of the corner of her eye that Mary's ponytail had barely moved an inch out of place. A stab of embarrassment had her wondering what her own hair looked like.

Probably a rats' nest.

"Have…" Mary turned towards her now, blue eyes twinkling in the firelight, blonde hair shining with a red light from the flames. "Have you ever read- No- I mean- This isn't-"

Helen turned to her sharply, hissing behind her gag at how her side was jostled. New pain, red hot and angry, forced her back straight and she glared at Mary, breathing suddenly labored.

"Shut up." Is what she had been trying to saw but because of the gag and the fact that her mouth was as dry as sand all that came out was: "uff oop."

"You're not a prisoner. It's just- I think- well Helen you know what you can be like."

"What _I_ can be like?" she tried to ask incredulously. "You're working with murderers!"

But of course, it came out as "Wha uh a ee wii? Wo wowin wi urerror!" Which made it a little less accusatory and a little more hilarious, much to the annoyance of Helen.

She was so _insulted_! How could Mary be blaming her for her own kidnapping? The whole thing was bonkers.

Mary sighed, catching the jist. "I'm not- you're wrong about everything, Helen. If you would just-"

Someone cleared their throat and Helen's head whipped round so fast that it clicked painfully and pain radiated across her face from the force of it.

The blonde man from before was kneeling in front of them, head cocked to the side, watching with that same blank stare. The fire behind him forced his face into shadow but his eyes gleamed out of the darkness and set Helen on edge once again.

She tittered behind her gag, leaning away despite the crippling pangs of pain in her side. He held something strange in his hands, it looked like a water bottle but was covered in leather and secured at the top with a cork and string.

He placed the weird water bottle on his legs and reached forward with deft, easy fingers to undo her gag. The thought of punishment from puking on his shoes was still fresh in her mind but, despite the fact that she was sure he was probably going to beat her black and blue before he sold her into a life of servitude as a maid or whatever, she still opened her mouth to scream.

Except it didn't come out as a scream at all.

The sound she made, mouth wide and dry, was a series of broken pathetic breaths. Tears pricked at her eyes from her failed attempt to call for help and again, even in the shadows of the night she could catch the gleam of amusement in the blonde's eyes. Her mouth, still open, closed slowly and she daren't look towards Mary for fear of seeing smugness in her pretty face.

The blonde man kept his gaze steady, his hands fiddling with the clasp of the hot water bottle until he uncorked it. He brought it slowly to her lips, as though afraid she may bite him as she had bitten the other. She didn't. But only because Mary quietly whispered: "It's water. I had some. Don't worry." Next to her when she hesitated. And only after _that_ because her throat was so dry she was scared she'd choke on air.

She allowed his right, bare hand to cup her jaw, tipping her head backwards so that he could slide the cork into her mouth and tip the hot water bottle upwards. She glared at him, even as the first drop of water wet the inside of her chaffed mouth and she let out a content moan.

His eyebrow, as earlier, quirked up, the amusement doubling as she greedily dribbled the water into her mouth. Their gazes didn't break until she gave into need and blinked. When she opened her eyes again he was tugging the cork from her mouth, eyebrow lowered and a quirk to his mouth instead. The water was so glorious along her throat that she forgot about the pain in her side and licked at her lips, trying to gleam from the dry cracks any water that may have been left behind.

"His name is Glorfindel." Mary said suddenly.

Helen, who had forgotten she was even there, turned to her slowly. What kind of dumb name was Glorfindel? It sounded like something out of Terry Pratchett novel and she _hated_ those.

"G-Glor what?" Helen asked, testing her voice as the water soothed the inside of her esophagus. Her voice was raspy but intelligible and she ignored the still kneeling blonde man as he re-corked the strange water bottle and resumed his quiet watching of the two girls.

Helen found it ridiculously creepy.

"Glor-findel." Mary corrected a small, hopeful smile on her face at the prospect of Helen speaking to her again.

"Tell him to fuck off." Helen replied crudely, throwing a snide look over her shoulder at the end of her sentence. Glorfindel, as usual, watched her impassively and barely reacted to her look. Helen's eye twitched with annoyance.

"It doesn't work like that. I can't understand everything." Mary breathed, reaching out a small, pale hand towards Helen's ones. Helen jerked at the almost-contact, practically hissing through her teeth. She pulled her hands away sharply, leveling an icy look at Mary. The blonde girls smile fell slightly, confusion sparking in her eye and then determination.

"Helen I'm _not_ \- I'm not _with_ them." She said quickly.

Helen, conscious of Glorfindel still kneeling beside them, rolled her eyes.

"It's _true_! I promise you, _please_. I promise. I woke up in the forest and I was walking and then they turned up and I caught a glimpse of their ears and I realized that-"

Helen frowned. "Their _ears_?" What the hell did their ears have to do with anything?

Helen opened her mouth to ask if the other girl had gone insane but Mary was still talking as if she hadn't even heard Helen's initial inquiry question.

"That- well I had my suspicions and at first I thought they were just cosplaying-" _What the hell is a cosplay_ , Helen thought, hopelessly lost. "And then an orc came barreling into the fray and it all went tits up and- what?" Mary blinked, as though she'd only just heard Helen's question. "W-haven't you- Helen haven't you seen them yet?"

Helen didn't know what to say. She didn't give a shit about some murderers' _ears_ but still thought to the blonde man whose hair was so thick it didn't even occur to her that he _had_ ears. It seemed preposterous to even think about it but Mary was half looking at her like she'd just stumbled upon a buried treasure and half staring at her with incredulous bewilderment.

"You didn't look?" Mary breathed, desperate. "You didn't see?"

Helen wanted to smack her schoolmate.

"It doesn't _matter_." She ground out. "It doesn't matter what's wrong with their ears. What matters is that they killed those men-"

"They weren't men." Mary interrupted, eyes shining in the firelight. "They were _orcs_. I knew it the moment I saw them. I just knew i-"

"What the fuck is an _orc_?" Helen demanded, confusion whirling around her mind. Ears? Orcs? Cosplay? What the fuck was going on?

Mary's look of determination turned into one of the utmost pity. As though Helen were a baby and just didn't get that you weren't supposed to cut other people's hair or you weren't supposed to steal toys or throw tantrums in supermarkets.

"Helen I-" Mary broke off, looking to the side. The (maybe) man from before was standing beside Glorfindel. In his hands he held two bowls of something steaming. As he leaned down a curtain of midnight black hair fell off down of his shoulder and hung in waves in front of half of his face. His hair seemed to absorb all of the light of the fire and it glowed from within, a glistening oil black. Helen watched it fall like water, gently flittering to and fro in the soft breeze of the forest.

"Helen," Mary whispered as he bent to hand Glorfindel the bowls of spicy smelling hot liquid, " _Look_."

Helen, as if transfixed, looked away from his glistening, liquid onyx hair, to the side of his head. The tip of a large, pointed, pale ear poked through his lovely hair, sat shadowed against the orange glow from the camp fire. It stuck out slightly away from his head, the point curving gracefully upwards.

Her hands, still bound, dropped limply to her lap in shock. Because his ears were very, very _not_ normal.

 _My God_ , she thought _, are they really aliens_?

She slumped to the side, face twitching as she aggravated her wound.

"See?" Mary asked, excitedly beside her, practically bouncing in her seat as though this would fix everything. "Don't you _see_?"

"See what?" Helen croaked, throat suddenly dry.

Glorfindel was watching her intently, hands stilled on their journey to take the bowls from the brunette man. Helen looked away from the ear that had captured her attention, looking down to him.

Maybe he _was_ an alien, she thought dazedly. He didn't really look… _human_.

Oh, humanoid, of course. He had two eyes and a nose and full pink lips but his cheek bones were so high and his eyes were shining, piercing jewels in the shadow his face. Even though he looked like a man he also looked like…well, _more_.

"Isn't obvious? With Glorfindel and the other elves?" Helen found she had no more shock to give as Mary brought up some more malarkey about _elves_ of all things. Instead of replying she gave a nervous titter, suddenly wishing Mary would just _stop talking_.

"We're in Lord of the Rings, of course."

Suddenly, Helen very much wished she had let those orc-men things eat her alive.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

I know the 'ears' trope is overdone, but I think it was pretty much essential for this story as it is for many others. This chapter took me about a day to write but a week to edit! It just wouldn't go right. Even now I'm not completely happy with it but it's as good as I can get it for now. I know it's very meaty description wise and I hope that you don't get bored reading it. I tried to cut as much as I could, but there's not much dialogue you can do when your main character is gagged and can't understand anything aha

You'll also notice that I've switched the rating to M because of the language. Hope that doesn't dissuade anyone from reading.

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and fav'ing and following. It's lovely and so rewarding to know people like your work.

Let me know what you think about this chapter. Thanks again for reading and giving (Im)perfection a chance.

Good tidings for the week,  
Aobh x (:


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